When I awaken, encrusted in the unfinished business of many days past,
Bullied by the demands of a bent-mirrored world that can't see straight,
Spent from the work of straightening,
I am a grouch.
I've become an unruly, untended garden with weeded thistles more tangled than teen bedhead.
I seem to reach just to snag and draw blood from those close by.
How have I become full of the prickly world's desire to sting?
When did my vision become the warped mirror of the world?
Tend to me...rip, pull...melt, straighten...pour out the venom I've ingested.
Make me smell of sweet dirt, ripe tomatoes and pole beans again.
Make me shine straight, mirroring Your beauty
And all the good you intend the world to be again.
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